Wall, I begun the subject carefully, but straight to the pint, as my way is, by tellin' him that Ralph S. Robinson wuz a-layin' at death's door, and his life depended on his gettin' sleep, and we wuz afraid the bells in the mornin' would roust him up, and I had come to see if he would omit the ringin' of 'em in the mornin'.
“Not ring the bells!” sez he, in wild amaze. “Not ring the church bells on the Sabbath day?”
His look wuz skairful in the extreme, but I sez—
“Yes, that is what I said, we beg of you as a Christian to not ring the bells in the mornin'.”
“A Christian! A Christian! Advise me as a Christian to not ring the Sabbath bells!”
I see the idee skairt him. He wuz fairly pale with surprise and borrow. And I told him agin', puttin' in all the perticilers it needed to make the story straight and good, how Ralph S. Robinson had labored for the good of others, and how his strength had gin out, and he wuz now a-layin' at the very pint of death, and how his girl and his sister wuz a-breakin' their hearts over him, and how we had some hopes of savin' his life if he could get some sleep, that the doctors said his life depended on it, and agin I begged him to do what we asked.
But the Deacon had begin to get over bein' skairt, and he looked firm as anybody ever could, as he sez: “The bells never hurt anybody, I know, for here I have lived right by the side of 'em for 20 years. Do I look broke down and weak?” sez he.
“No,” sez I, honestly. “No more than a grannit monument, or a steel trap.”
“Wall,” sez he, “what don't hurt me won't hurt nobody else.”